A/N: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone in a Nutshell. At least for the first few chapters that is. Nothing really belongs to me, as this is only a fanfiction. Everything belongs to JKR. Enjoy-CCG

Chapter 3

Keeper of Keys

Harry shook his head as if to make the letter disappear.

It didn't.

Harry smiled slightly and turned to go back into the dining room. A letter
came for him-not a note to acknowledge his birth; a letter, addressed to him.
He was in a daze as he handed the post to his uncle. His hands shook a little
as he turned the envelope over to open it.

It happened fast; too fast for his cousin's stature. The letter, his small
glimpse of hope, was snatched from his fingers in an instant. He felt a tug in
his chest: not from pain of his spiteful family, but from the huge amount of
hatred for Dudley. His cousin took every little once of joy from him.

Not this time.

"Give that back! It's mine!" Harry shouted.

"Yours?" His uncle asks, staring at him with an expression that showed how
impossible he found the idea. "Who'd be writing to you?"

Harry's lips twisted shut in anger: the person who cared enough to wish him a
happy birthday. Someone out there did care, and that letter could have the
answer as to who it was. His uncle looked at the envelope, expression warping
into a frown, and his face began to redden. He glanced at his wife and then at
Harry.

"Out!" He shouted. "Out, the both of you!"

"I'll go as soon as you give me back my letter! It belongs to me!" Harry
stepped closer to his uncle. "That's my name on the front, so give it here!"

"I said get out!" His uncle was fully red, screaming and sputtering in anger.

"No! Give me my letter!"

"Dad! What is it?" Dudley demanded, his pudgy face eager. He always got his
way.

Vernon stood up from the table and walked over to the stove and turned it on.
He waited a moment as the burner heated up. He then removed a spatula from the
hanger and placed the letter on the burner. With the spatula he pressed down
on the envelope. Harry watched in horror as his post began to burn. Vernon
turned back to the two boys.

"Now nobody will read it. Get out."

Harry glared at the over sized man before turning and leaving the room. His
cousin followed him, pushing past him in the hall.

"Now you'll never know what it says." Harry watched Dudley laugh as he waddled
into the living room. Harry stood there a moment before pressing himself to
the door and listening in.

"What should we do Vernon?" His aunt asked, worry in her voice.

"We ignore it; they'll have to leave us alone eventually. I won't have this
nonsense in my household."

Harry pulled back from the door; they obviously knew something about his
letter. Harry hoped that whoever sent it was waiting for a reply, and when
they didn't get one, would come looking for answers.

There was a knock on his door, but his aunt didn't wait for a response. Harry
rubbed his left eye and sat up.

"Wa'z it?" He asked groggily.

"C'mon, get up...and get your stuff." She replied stiffly.

A slight panic raced through Harry: were his aunt and uncle finally tired of
him and his "accidents"? Were they getting rid of him? Where would they send
him? Would they just leave him alone on the street?

As bad as his life was at, number four Privet Drive, living nowhere was a lot
worse.

"Where am I going?" Harry asked, hoping that she didn't hear the fear in his
voice.

"You're moving into Dudley's old room." She replied quickly. "Now let's go, I
won't tell you again."

Relief flood through him: they weren't kicking him out. In fact, they were
giving him a room. A room, not the cramp, damp, spider infested cupboard he
had spent his life in, but a room. Harry quickly got up and began to take his
things upstairs. As he reached the top, he heard his cousin's voice,
complaining. He had to bite his bottom lip to keep himself from smirking at
Dudley's displeasure.

"But I need that room mum!" He whined.

"Now Dudders, you'll have plenty of room in your new room." Petunia consoled
him and then turned to Harry. "Hurry up, we don't have all day."

"Mum! I don't want him to have my room." Dudley whined again.

"Now pumpkin, it'll be fine."

Harry walked into the room. It wasn't big, but it was better than under the
stairs. He dropped the stuff he had in his hand and went to grab the rest of
his things.

Harry worked on his room until dinnertime. After he ate, he went right back
upstairs. He didn't know the reason behind it, but he didn't care. For once in
his life the Dursley's had done something nice for him. He put his hands into
his pockets and pulled out the five little notes of 'Happy Birthday'. Perhaps
it was the work of his guardian angel?

Harry yawned and stretched. His bed was not overly comfortable, but it was far
better than the hardwood floor. He looked out the window; the sun was out. He
looked at the clock on the table beside him. It was almost seven thirty. He
slowly got out of bed and left the room to go to the kitchen. Petunia was
already at the stove, her expression frantic.

"Aunt Petunia?" He asked warily.

"You go upstairs and…" She paused hurrying to push a handful of papers into
the trash. "Go!"

Harry looked bewildered but complied. That was odd, he thought. Harry sat in
his room for an hour before his aunt called him down. Dudley was devouring his
meal. His uncle sipped on his coffee while reading the paper and his aunt was
chewing on a piece of toast. It was as if that morning had never happened.

Harry sat down and poured himself a bowl of cornflakes. It was quiet, quiet
enough to hear the post drop on the inside doormat. Dudley jumped up and
shouted, "I'll get it!"

"No!" His uncle bellowed. "I'll get it."

Harry continued to eat his breakfast in silent amusement. Harry knew it was a
letter for him. He was right; whoever had sent it was looking for a reply, and
the longer they didn't get one, the more the letters came. It was only a
matter of time before Harry got his hands on one. Vernon came back in and
threw a handful of letters in the trash. He sharply turned to Harry.

"You! Upstairs."

Harry didn't offer up a rebuttal, he just placed his bowl in the sink and went
to his bedroom. Despite the fact he still hadn't gotten the letter, it was
funny to watch his family deal with the situation.

After handing out some biscuits to his relatives, Harry sat down and enjoyed a
lemon biscuit himself. It was Sunday, which meant the post would stop for now.
Too bad, Harry thought.

"Sunday's such a fine day, isn't Dudley?" Vernon asked. "It's my new favorite
day of the week."

Harry nodded to himself and shoveled the last of his biscuit into his mouth.
His eyes flickered towards the window as a large bird flew by. He walked over
to the window. His eyes widened. It was a shocking sight to see. A large
amount of owls had taken up residency all over Privet Drive.

"Why is today your new favorite day?" Dudley asked.

"Because there's no post on Sunday." Vernon replied and then grumbled. "Let's
see those freaks contact him now."

Harry slightly turned his head in his uncle direction; there was always
tomorrow. Harry also pondered who "those freaks" were. He looked down at his
feet as he felt them shake. The house was rumbling. His head snapped away from
the window and to the fireplace where he heard a rustling noise.

"What is that!" He heard his cousin yell. Harry felt anxious; he knew what
was coming down the chimney and it wasn't Santa Claus.

Letters, enough to fill three sacks, shot out of the fireplace and into the
living room. Harry couldn't help but let a smirk creep up on his face. Another
abundance of letters shot through the mail slot as well. With his family
momentarily shocked, Harry took his chance and grabbed letter. He jumped over
the couch and ran for the stairs. Despite his uncle's large size, he caught
his nephew quickly.

"Let go of me!" Harry shouted. "You've no right!"

"I have every right!" Vernon yelled back. "If those freaks won't leave us
alone then we'll go far away, where they can't find us!"

Harry wasn't sure how they had sent so many letters, or who wrote them all,
but he was sure that they, whoever they were, wouldn't find him now. Vernon's
idea of going far away was hiding in a shack, on an island, in the middle of
nowhere.

Harry sat on the front of the dead fireplace, holding a clock. He was counting
down the minutes until his eleventh birthday. Briefly, he wondered if his
angel knew where he was. Perhaps there would be a note for him when he got
home.

The clock struck twelve: by Harry's count he was eleven. He wished he knew the
exact time he was born. He wished he knew everything about his birth. He
sighed; with all the weirdness that had been going on lately, he had thought
his guardian was finally coming to save him. He set the clock to the side and
laid down. So after he went to sleep…

Harry's eyes fluttered open, there was a loud thumping noise coming from the
door. He quickly checked the clock it was five in the morning.

"What is that ruckus?" His uncle shouted, banishing a crowbar.

The door flew off its hinges and onto the floor. Dudley jumped behind the
couch. A man with haggard hair and beard stood hunched over in the doorway. He
stepped inside: his height was insane. He stepped off the door and picked it
up, fixing it as much as he could. "Sorry 'bout that."

Harry stared. He knew it was rude, but he'd never seen a man of that size
before. "You, sir, are trespassing! Leave at once!" His uncle sneered. The
giant ignored him and turned to Harry.

"'Arry look at ya, you look just like yer da."

"You knew my dad?"

"And yeh mum." He replied. "Beautiful woman, she was."

He dug into his coat pocket and pulled out a brown book.

"Here, this is for you, and this." He also pulled out a white box.

Harry took it and thanked him. This wasn't the person who was sending him the
notes, but Harry felt he could trust him.

"I'm sorry, I really appreciate the gifts... but who are you?"

"Name's Rebus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts."

"Hogwarts?" Harry asked.

"The school where your parents learned their stuff."

"What stuff?"

Hagrid turned to the Dursleys.

"Have yuh told him nuthin' of his life?"

He turned back to Harry.

"Yer a wizard, Harry."

Harry was dumbstruck. ...that was unexpected.

"A wizard? But that's impossible. There's no such thing as magic."

He knew this because his uncle drilled it into is head his entire life.

"But you've seen the impossible, haven't ya Harry?" Hagrid asked. "How strange
things happen to you when you're angry or scared."

Harry watched Hagrid's expression shift into a knowing smile. He dug into
another pocket-Harry was curious to know how many pockets his coat had-and
pulled out a letter.

His letter.

Harry took it, opening it quickly, and read it out loud.

"Dear Mr. Potter,"

"We are pleased to inform you, that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School
of Witchcraft and Wizardry…"

He stopped reading and looked up at the keeper of keys.

"Tell me, Harry... would you like to go to Diagon Alley with me?"